Vegas of the South

My flight had already been delayed five hours when they decided to board us. I was all ready to go, laying my head on the wall by my window seat when I heard the man three rows behind me yell "I'm SIX FOOT SEVEN, there's NO ONE IN THE EXIT ROW. YOU'RE TELLING me I HAVE TO PAY AN EXTRA SIXTY_FIVE DOLLARS TO SIT WHERE MY FEET AREN'T SQUISHED LIKE A FUCKING RAT IN A CAGE?!?"
I sighed and tried to read up on Reese and Jakey. Fifteen minutes after we had all finished boarding, the captain got on the intercom and announced that yes, we had boarded the plane, but unfortunately, we were not taking off for at least another hour. Giant-man sighed extra loudly and we all kind of jostled around in our seats, drinking "free" water and watching Nim's Island. After two more hours of sitting on the plane, we de-boarded, back through one of the gates at the Orlando International Airport, to wait for new, "fresh" flight attendants to fly in from DC and come back with us to our home.
We had about an hour to go, left to fend for ourselves in a near-empty airport, considering it was nearing midnight. I spent my time eating ritz crackers and huddling by a plug, letting my blackberry charge while I complained to my friends and family about how shitty this situation was.
We finally boarded the plane again and somehow this man had not only found two more men, but he had also found himself a lovely seat, in the exit row... right in front of my seat.
Now this wouldn't bother me in normal circumstances, I mean hey I've gotten a free upgrade plenty of times, but I digress.
What bothered me was that he and his dos amigos were drunk. And I'm not talking "woohoo tipsy," I'm talking "OK we're off the plane, let's down as much booze as possible."
These men were in their mid-40s and as I sat there, watching them knock heads and not so subtly hitting on the flight attendants, I started to feel bad for them.
Drunk men have no sense of right or wrong, they simply say what they feel and do what they want, damned if anyone tries to stop them. I looked at them and thought of the many guys I've hung out with when they were in that state of inebriation. And how stupid they were. And how awesome I thought that was. These men sitting in front of me, pouring their drinks all over their chair, the floor, my outstretched legs, these men are the guys I used to hang out with, all "grown up" and I was embarrassed for them! They stood, in turn, and tried to head for the bathroom, instead knocking into the rows next to them, behind them, in front of them, all at once grabbing their temples and poor peoples' armrests, trying to make the floor stop moving.
It was sad and amusing all at the same time.
Amusing because, twenty minutes before landing, they had finally finished their venti cups of rum and pepsi and everything started to hit. They couldn't keep their heads upright, one of them kept muttering "where the fuck is Tyson's?" and they had just finished the "i love you, man!" stage, therefore resulting in their unwillingness to make eye contact with each other.
It was lovely.

I hope they all made it home safely, I didn't want anything bad to happen to them, it just made me reflect on the amount of times I had been around people like that. It made me realize that I, for one, was done hanging out with guys like that.